‘She said my grandmother fell ill in Thirukudayur. She left after lunch.’
‘Where is Thirukudayur?’
‘Six hours form Chennai. She won’t be able to make it.’
‘What about you guys?’
‘We are almost ready. I wanted to wear my mom’s nice orange Kanjeevaram
sari but I can’t find it. I hope she has not lost it. She wouldn’t take it with her,
hardly the occasion.’
‘Leave soon, Ananya, I can’t promise good seats otherwise,’ I said.
‘OK, OK, bye,’ she said and hung up.
Bala arrived at 6:30 with Anil Mathur, the country manager. Anil had flown down
from Mumbai. Bala had ensured that a Mercedes brought Anil straight to the
venue. Bala tailed him like a Tamil villain’s sidekick, showing him the
arrangements and taking credit for the entire event.
‘And this is the bar. And see the Citibank banner behind. I put a big ad in The
Hindu today. Number one newspaper here,’ Bala said.
I greeted Bala. He ignored me and continued to walk.
‘Hey, you are the Internet fiasco guy,’ Anil noticed me.
‘Good evening, sir,’ I said. I had become the poster boy for loserdom in the
bank.
‘Aren’t you the only Punjabi stuck here?’ he laughed. ‘I think that’s enough
punishment. No, Bala?’
Bala guffawed, even though the joke was on him, rather his city.
‘Looking to move back?’ the country manager said.
‘I’ll talk to you about it, sir,’ I said.
‘You let me know first,’ Bala finally acknowledged me. ‘I’ll help him, sir.’
The country manager patted my shoulder and walked away.